


can't keep running out

by dabblingDilettante



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Gen, Metafiction, No Mercy Route, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5191454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabblingDilettante/pseuds/dabblingDilettante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It had always been too late for them.  Chara refused to fool themself - refused to be tricked, this far down the line.</em>
</p><p>Just because the world glitches - just because the player can't go on - that doesn't mean the characters don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't keep running out

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic that started out because I got really really sad about the thought of Sans trying to push Chara to react when he says "Keep pretending to be human." And then also me being emotional about the thought of Chara being the one to say, "Keep lying," to Alphys, and to hear from ... someone who had made so many mistakes and hurt so many people ... that she wanted to tell the truth.
> 
> This fic does mention character death but isn't about it. It alludes to self-harm. It alludes to a lot of bad-brainness. It's very much about depersonalization. It's very much about ... Chara being ... dead kid woken up for terrible deeds. It's ... a little about hope in the darkest places, I'd like to think.

"Y'know, it'd really help me out," an old friend started. 

Chara wondered how many times he would go on repeating this - even if this one was different, he knew what to watch for, what to expect. They didn't break eye contact with the skeleton's lazy wink. Everything in every step of the Ruins - that was all a test - but for what, some voice in them would sometimes ponder.

 _So we_ , and they would take an internal step back, fixed-wide eyes on Sans, snow tickling not them but someone else, never them. This was not their body, and that made it easier. _So I don't stop._

The grin on his face widened, somehow, as his shoulders bunched up at their frozen expression. There was one thing they could appreciate about him. "If you kept pretending to be human."

It was fitting to a tragedy, if anything could matter enough to be a tragedy any longer, that these would be the words to cut through what remained of them. The hole was too natural, now - the wound a fact of what they existed to be. Sans didn't linger on his attack. He walked away before they could take their turn, into the infinite void of whatever mockery of determination he held onto.

Shoulders uneven, soft skin weighed down by a weight of dust and plastic, this was not their body. Frisk would not heave air in tightly hidden panic. Frisk would not laugh until their eyes burned and poured tears. Frisk would not - Frisk was not - a body of poisonharmvoiddeath to everything around them. Frisk was no demon, so they would be.

Chara turned to Snowdin, steps in a memory before they remembered this was now, and someone's Determination was pulling them forward. Feet dragging through snow. If they were alive, if they could wonder like they had to Frisk somewhere else, they would think, maybe - _how lightly can you step over the snow_?

Tracks behind them didn't fade, deep gashes through the underground, graced by dust as they progressed.

Tracks behind them weren't there, dust merging with snow as they moved forward.

Tracks behind them - it doesn't matter. They don't look back.

The fingers they poured power into tightened around a plastic knife, the nails they controlled dug into flesh, but they did not react. They allowed nothing - but the dim appreciation that Sans at least finished what he started.

Frisk was probably cold when they stood solving puzzles. They had been many times in the past. Now wasn't much different. Papyrus was loud. He was looking at someone else, when they stood in front of him. He wasn't wrong. He was wrong. It didn't matter. Sans, though - always, "Maybe," he would stare at them, grinning from ear to ear to say, "They don't like japes."

There were memories of making jokes about cactuses - there were times Frisk hopped along lily pads, and ran into improbable monsters.  When they were awake, they'd ask Chara what they were.  There was always something silly they didn't realize they could share.

There was a memory where Chara had - opened hands wet with a proper human's blood - annoyed and insulted and wanting to prove the truth - dropped the knife - picked up a junior jumble and ruined the entire path forward.

That was not the Determination of the person who woke them up.

Sans went on smiling as they walked forward, probably still smiling as they faced forward till he was out of sight, no need to look back.  They'd done that before.

"You're gonna have a bad time." There was the faint memory when - those words had sent a chill through them. They didn't have much effect anymore.

Papyrus might have been right, once upon a time - "You can do a little better." But there was nothing left. "Even if you don't think so." What Chara thought - if they could even feel - here, it didn't much matter.

The one young monster - that kid - it was a strange beat in Frisk's chest that Chara could almost feel, when they would run up to stop them. "Why won't you answer me?" They'd failed here before. "What's with that weird expression?" Yet, even in moments they succeeded - _in the way_ \- they couldn't help but pause the first time.  Chara would stare over and down the side of the bridge. Maybe in the past that had been an option.

They had to turn.  In the second their fist would flash forward, there was almost a question of what would happen.  Undyne never failed them.  "Whatever you are," her words a proof of their success. Their mouth twisted - it didn't matter which way anymore, as long as it was facing everything they had coming to them.

When they would die to her, when they would see that child again, speech was a heavy echo in Frisk's mouth. Their voice coming from them - Chara only knew they had succeeded when the kid would respond, bright and distant from their own ears, "What? What's over there?"

Undyne made it easier to attack after the first try.

Some memories existed where they'd forgotten none of this mattered.  Rather than leaping forward, they fell to their knees.  Gravel and obsidian stabbed against their legs, skirt flared over old cuts - maybe that had been Frisk - maybe that had been them - here, it didn't matter.

Attacking was a part of the system. The hero fails to defeat the demon. They moved forward along the tracks of tragedy.

The robot threw up his hands in warning and uselessness.  From here, it was not so difficult. From the empty lab, Chara would traverse Hotland to the Core. No matter who wasn't here. They thought -

There was a time, they had said to someone - _Keep lying_.

"Right?" Alphys had agreed. She wouldn't listen to a word of theirs with these actions on tape - when they had bared this potential to her eyes, over a screen, through what she called home. Here she couldn't forgive them for everything - that was fine. "Anyone would want to live a lie as long as you were both content." She was capable of as many terrible things as they were - are. "Who would want to live a truth where both people were unhappy." Frisk preferred the truth. The Determination of the person behind them didn't much care about those matters. "But ... no." Present - however present and real the dead could be - Chara slouched over a half-empty water cooler. They smiled, faint, shook their head. That wasn't here. She had never been right. Blood at chapped - chewed - ripped lips mixed with water.

Frisk would forgive them. It wouldn't change anything. Not even they understood what made a demon. That sometimes a demon was unavoidably necessary.

"I need to tell the truth," Alphys had said.

Chara saw a flicker of movement. A small volcano - ash burned against the tutu of someone whose determination had failed long ago. A pan flashed through the air and they took the elevator to the resort.

" _I can't keep going on this way._ "

The elevator's gears whirred, quiet. They stood, even here. There wasn't any point to sitting if they'd be standing again another moment. Wasteful.

Chara's eyes closed, for a moment. If they opened their eyes, maybe she would be standing outside the doors, hatred vibrant in her eyes. Maybe she'd go through on that threat, memories away, let those ghosts loose to trap them, choke them out of Frisk and every timeline, destroy Determination, deliver just consequence. They giggled, the joke only slightly stale - a moment to breathe and the doors slid open.

Heat wafted through. "Looks like you're having a bad time."

They stopped laughing.

"Well." They didn't have an ounce of their own determination left in the torrent of memories. "I've got an opening in my schedule," Sans said.  This was new.

The light of Mettaton's Resort was neon and bright enough to challenge even the core around. Even to hurt - Frisk's eyes. Not them. They would move forward. This was the last time they would have to do this. They walked past a lazybones, flagrant, feet slamming, kicking up dust. He was only ever too late, for the world, for them.

It had always been too late for them.  Chara refused to fool themself - refused to be tricked, this far down the line.

"Hey, I know a shortcut." There wasn't supposed to be anything left of them. "How about'cha come with me for dinner?" The doors of the resort wouldn't open. Chara slammed a fist against it. "Or you could do that. Sure." Slammed Frisk's shoulder into it. Some Determination - some game - stopped the bone from fracturing on the spot. "Welp, tell me when you're through. Not like I don't appreciate you giving me a chance to doze." Their mind was faster than their feet, impatient, and they had the empty gun in hand long before they reached the two girls' empty stand.

 _Alphys evacuated us_ , they had already read that before, _but we gotta use up these gel pens!_ They had already seen that, and sat wondering to themself, Alphys' panic at children with a death sentence ticking over head, distracted enough till they forgot they were supposed to crush her last creation without a thought, till they had heard her voice over a phone.

The gun slammed into glass.  Maybe it was plexiglass.  Certainly not flexi-glass, and berated themself, and Frisk's body was not supposed to be panting, struggling to breathe.

"Yeah, I heard it's pretty tough to get through." That dull voice, again, behind them.

Chara twisted around to slide down the glass.   _I should have killed you when I had the chance._ That shouldn't matter anymore. They shouldn't care. The path to the end should be it. They dug their fingers through air, through skin, but there wasn't anyone hanging over their shoulder.  There wasn't someone pushing their feet forward.  There was nothing but them, like a puppet after its strings had been cut, struggling to stand up-right in Frisk's tired body, and - that was failure.

"So." All they could see was neon reflecting against Sans' dark jacket. Wide skeleton grin. Head banging against the door that should slide open, that should be open, that was always open, dozens of time over, a single eye of his flashed to match. "Looks like we're stuck."

They slumped down. "Here's your chance," they whispered, Alphys' voice echoing in their head.

"Heh." His hood was up - it did give his smile what could be called a menacing tone - if they could care - if they weren't dead. His hand rose. In some memory, where someone else's Determination had faltered, they'd fallen back to the start of everything. In some memory, Sans had shoved enough bones through flesh to make even Chara feel so much agony that they wondered if they had been alive all along. Yet. He waved the hand through the air without bother. "Wouldn't I love to. But everyone has rules they gotta stick to, kid." Sans thumped over and pressed a hand against the door - tried to shove his fingers through the crack - until they could faintly see bone fracture and fall over their nose as fine powder. They sneezed. "And it looks like something here's broke."

He wasn't wrong. They didn't want to progress, but there wasn't anyone pushing that now. They didn't have to. They slinked lower, until they were sprawled across the ground, Frisk's blue sweater riding up their back, air blowing thin across the ground tickling their spine. They closed their eyes - opened - closed - blinked a dozen times over, up at the cavernous ceiling.

"Listen, no matter how many times you blink, I'm not gonna poof out of existence." They could hear Sans' patience wearing, wafer-thin layer at a time. "So get your butt up. I reserved a table just for us."

They stared for a while longer, but gave in first - they just couldn't seem to grow up. "Aren't I," and they hacked for a moment, wondering if spiders crawled through Frisk's lungs without them knowing.  They'd apologize if it could mean anything. "Aren't I a dirty brother killer?" Chara rasped.

Sans - he didn't laugh, or chuckle, no, he chortled. Humorless. Their mouth twitched up into a smile. Their lips shook. Their eyes burned and they started laughing along, louder and heartier, till Frisk's lungs burned, till tears poured down their cheeks. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"You'll be wanting a burger, right?" he said through an unchanging grin.

They clutched the empty gun close. Perhaps, if they killed him right here, everything could end. They could force it all to shut-down. They could force their way through a broken door, push on through, even if - someone, something gave up on them, and they didn't have the determination to turn themself back alone.  No one was holding their hand, towards good or bad.

They sniffled as they stood and said, "No ketchup."

The two entered the restaurant in the same moment they blinked. Not through sliding doors - almost as though they'd risen through ground, at a table in a dark room artfully abandoned. Chairs stood stacked along the walls, so they had to loiter by a table graced by folded-up lace.

Candlelight approached till they heard, "Bone appetit," in a cheery mutter. A plate clattered in front of them, ceramic breaking on the spot. They had never gotten far enough against him to see all his powers. Gravity manipulation, though, it made sense. Like a roleplay character they made up with Asriel. The only difference was Sans used his techniques for boring jabs, they thought in a measure of contempt.

They poked at the burger, a mess of birthday candles stabbed into the bun.  Testing the contents, their fingers only returned wet and cold. Pressed against their tongue -

"No ketchup, as promised," Sans said.

Mustard on bread. They laughed.

Mettaton's resort didn't have the endless dead drone Chara could hear in the void of Hotland. The midi over the speakers needled itself away into unnatural jabs at their ears.

"You know. You sound like you're not used to talking," Sans finally said, even as he tipped a bottle of ketchup back. "Didja forget how after doing this so many times?" An edge of sarcasm there.

He was a little refreshing without Papyrus around. Seeing him like this - they almost felt justified in killing his brother.

"Frisk doesn't talk," as a hoarse answer. "I suppose you wouldn't know."

In some memories, there's a bad comedian standing at the stage. They never bothered to remember his jokes. Just his run-away teen. Just his dead wife. Just one line.

Sans stayed quiet only until there was a silence for him to break. "So the kid's mute?"

"You could say they speak in hands," Chara said, wiggling their fingers in the air.

He winked as they went on giggling - slammed down the bottle. The smile on their face edged into a grin. Another loss to have to know, there was always more, and most people would never understand.  A quiet tragedy that he didn't get to meet Frisk.  They could laugh - it was so easy to laugh it off. Maybe it was echoing through from another world - maybe enough had broken in this that he was there in halves - always saying _that's not funny_.

Or maybe that was just them.

It was his turn, and he took as long as he pleased with it, till they were picking at waxy bread. Things were easier with Frisk between themself and Sans. Frisk's quiet was welcoming. Frisk was many things they couldn't be.  It felt similar to Sans and Papyrus - them and Asriel - now and Frisk.  Dragging Sans down to their own level, like the child they were, that was the reason they could stand at a table before him.

"I was going up to New Home myself," he finally said. "But I couldn't get through." He slipped another bottle out of a small breast pocket, and they thought to themself about _hammer space_ and quantum jokes Frisk didn't get. "You seemed surprised when I showed up. So I'm guessing no other Sanses ran into this problem."

They didn't answer his question - the fact that he _figured_ would be enough for him - he didn't invited them to a meal for their opinion. "What was in your way?"

He bit off the entire neck of the bottle and spit it at the wall, glass shattering. "You know ... our good doctor does a lot of research. She's sharp. Maybe not in the same way another was, but she's got a good head on her shoulders. Even if she doesn't think so." He paused - tried to measure their reaction - but even they didn't know what Frisk's face would show at that - what their own could. "Well, anyway. Most of what she does is DT-related. Not really my field. But ... I did get something from her once that she couldn't explain."

Sans swirled the bottle in their hand before dumping it across the table.

"This is just a metaphor, kid. Imagine, if you will. Someone, far away on a dead deserted island, has some great important information they need to get to a particular person. Chances they're gonna get it?" He chuckled. "Well. I don't think I need to tell you just how low that is. A percentage of a percent. Takes a lotta desperation to bet on something like that. ...A lot of determination to bet your future on that. Impossible, right?" He picked up a damp piece of paper. "I gotta say. She surprised me."

Chara - Frisk - both of them - their heart beat in their chest, so hard they thought it would break through onto the table.

"And she really slammed me. You think if I told her that her problem was with some other Sans, that she'd lay off? Nah ... too much effort, for me. But hey. It did get me to show up early." He tapped a finger against the table. "She figured out how to break things harder than Gaster ever did."

"What," and their hands moved without them, "Did she do?"

Sans waved to the door of the restaurant. "Take a look yourself. Not like you're going anywhere."

They were at the door long before they stepped to move, had the quiet sense of wrongness before it opened, and they looked to where a fountain should stand, a lobby, a point to save and steel themself, and there was nothing.

Their disgust contorted Frisk's face. "Did you want to stop me from destroying this world so badly," they spun around, hair lashing against their face. "That you destroyed it yourself?"

That didn't add up. Even before the words were out of their mouth, they knew they were wrong - knew Sans' smile would be bouncing with each step he took toward them.

"Listen. I'd do a lot of things to stop a kid like you from ripping this world to shreds." His hand stopped just over their shoulder, hovering without contact. "I'd do even more to stop someone from destroying a kid like you."

Their eyes narrowed. "Like killing me."

"Hey, if I kill you, you'll bounce back with whatever power you've got. But ... someone else, might get annoyed enough to give up. Right?" He held his fingers together in a circle. "I don't mind making you hate me if it means you're feelin' something. Anything that reminds you you're real."

Strong words from someone who hated them - they'd whisper in Frisk's ear if they were awake right now.

"Not every Sans hates you, though." His smile looked a little strained, to match their wide-eye shock. "Hey, you write your words on their face, sometimes. 'Sides, don't put my hate on every me. Some Sans might be pretty decent." Unmoving smile - bitter. "Even if I'm not."

The world outside the restaurant flickered. It didn't come back as it was meant to be. Gray figures graced endless floors and ceilings, people who had died, strange signals of hands flashing as they fell into oblivion.

"Anyway. Whoever was fueling you? They gave up." Sans stared beyond Chara, maybe seeing more than they ever would in that space that went beyond even amalgamates' horror. "Or they just can't go on anymore in here. Some Alphys, somewhere, found a way to break whatever that control is."

"...By breaking the world," Chara muttered.

"You jealous?"  His hands flew up in a shrug they best knew right before slamming into a dozen bones and dying.  "Or just angry."

That power - that judgement - that was supposed to be all theirs alone. They were supposed to teach the person using them as a weapon. They were supposed to be the one to let all of this end - let themself end. They were supposed to be a demon - there wasn't supposed to be a way back from that.

 _Jealous?_ They considered lying. _I can't keep going this way_.

"Yes." They didn't.

Sans nudged their shoulder with his own. Maybe it was a little proud. They'd have to accept it.

"Can I ..." They paused, wondering over formality, bitterness and longing edging up. They kept it simple. "Can I see Dr. Alphys?" His eyes went dark and they laughed. They were always laughing, some way or another. "I won't kill her." They rubbed Frisk's palms together. They'd gone through till the dust meant nothing, but - she was the only one. "I don't think I could stand a chance against her."

Sans leaned against the doorframe, between them, and endless glitching void. He didn't have to believe them. "I might be able to schedule something."


End file.
